


Circe's Curse

by CasanovaCanSoar



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Animal Transformation, Curses, Gen, Odyssey Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasanovaCanSoar/pseuds/CasanovaCanSoar
Summary: Inspired by the connection between Flint and Odysseus: Silver and Flint find themselves dealing with a very Circe-like situation. Once the curse affects Silver, they have to figure out a way to end it or be trapped on an island that’s not on any map.





	Circe's Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings at the end! I will be doing some editing on this as time goes on, because work is never finished! But thank you so much to the Big Bang team for letting me participate!

Something Silver has grown used to is the sound of the night. A long time ago, in a place purposefully shrouded in a memory fog, John Silver had not known what the night sounded like. He had added to it with gentle snores as a child, but he had done so unknowingly. He had not known when the eerie creaks or whispers were just night sounds or when they came from something else. 

Nowadays, the night is as familiar as the day. The wood of the ship groans and creaks the way it should, even if to a stranger they would sound ominous. Silver adds himself to the chorus with the rhythmic thump of his metal leg as he does his rounds. If someone were to listen closely, they would hear the soft wheezing breath that Silver exhales after every step. 

Everyone on the ship listens closely.

Silver makes his way down to where the last of the rigging crew are slurping down their stew before going out to their shifts. The rest of the crew are sleeping heavily in their hammocks. Snores and sleep-mutters wash their noise over the soft lantern lights of the hold. It’s about as close to peace as Silver can grasp; his crew safely resting during the clearest and kindest sailing weather they’ve had in weeks.

The ship rocks and Silver adjusts his legs. He curses his forgetfulness when singing pain surges up what remains of his left leg. He grinds his teeth together to not make a sound. One of the men looks at him with sorrowful eyes before returning to his stew, and Silver has to practically bite through his tongue not to snap at him.

The offers for help have dwindled, since it is clear that anyone who tries will be on the receiving end of an abrupt, vicious remark. Flint has offered his cabin to Silver, if not his bed then the window bench. Howell keeps mentioning opium or other pain-relievers. The men still continue to reach out to steady him when he stumbles. Silver has to keep his rage locked in the back of his throat. He wishes he could roar and scream like Flint does. Since Miranda Barlow’s death, Flint has allowed his rage to consume every thread of his soul. He had sheared his hair and donned a crown of bloody victories against England.

As Silver ponders in an effort to ignore his pain, a shout comes from one of the sleeping men. There’s a loud thud as the man falls out of his hammock, and Silver’s body floods with adrenaline. The other sleeping men stir, crying out against an enemy. Some fall out of their hammocks, others tangle themselves in them. It’s chaotic, and Silver rushes over. However, the only people in the hold are the crew members. Silver looks down at Muldoon, who is shivering and covered in sweat.

“What the fuck just happened?” Silver orders. Muldoon’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly for a few seconds.

“I had a nightmare,” he replies haltingly. Silver feels his face move involuntarily into an incredulous expression. 

“A nightmare,” Silver repeats, because that is the least expected answer he expected. Muldoon shrugs and slowly stands. The other men are staring at Silver.

“Did everyone have a fucking nightmare?” Silver half-yells. The other men nod, most of them incredibly embarrassed. Silver barks a sharp laugh.

“Who’s behind this? Do you think it’s in your best interests to play pranks?” The men’s shoulders twitch towards their ears at the deep tone of Silver’s voice; being able to drop his voice a few octaves is something he has mastered of late.

“None of us,” Muldoon says as he placatingly raises his hands. “Honest to God.”

Silver is still suspicious, but he sees the worry on the men’s faces. It doesn’t make sense for it to be a trick, but it makes less sense for the whole crew to all have nightmares. Silver sighs.

“Everyone try to get some sleep,” he says as he makes his way to the main deck. It must be something in the food; that seems plausible. The hard thud of his leg on the deck catches the attention of Billy, who turns from where he was looking out at the water.

“What was that whole commotion downstairs?” His arms cross over his chest and he cocks his head inquisitively.

“Apparently,” Silver huffs, “the entire crew got a nightmare.”

Billy snorts a laugh. “What was it really?”

“That _was_ it really,” Silver returns. Billy’s face drops into his patented concerned expression.

“I’m hoping it was the food. Knowing me, it very well could be,” Silver half-jokes. Billy looks down at the deck for a few seconds, pondering.

“It’s nothing to worry about. Probably just a coincidence. First nice night we get in weeks and they all get scared from nightmares? Sounds like our luck,” Billy says with a small, reassuring smile. He puts a firm hand on Silver’s shoulder.

“You have a lot of responsibilities now, but worrying about the men’s nightmares isn’t one of them.” Billy ducks around Silver and goes down into the hold. The warmth of Billy’s company is whisked away in a sudden burst of wind. It is accompanied by salt and sea-spray, and Silver wonders how long it will be for the sea to relinquish its hold of him.

 

The door to Flint’s cabin groans as Silver opens it. There’s an oil lamp right outside the door. When it’s lit, it means that the only allowed disturbances are to come from De Groot, Billy, or Silver. The lamp is burning, and it makes the inside of Flint’s cabin all the more inscrutable in the night. Flint is a dark shape, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up as Silver enters.

“What’s wrong?” Flint grumbles. 

Silver had seen a drawing of the bears the New France settlers had run into. The notes under the drawing say that it had a roar like thunder and a bulking body of muscle. Flint always reminds him of a beast of that sort, but Flint’s beast is kept hidden underneath his skin.

“Just doing my rounds,” Silver replies. He does not enter Flint’s cabin, choosing instead to lean against the doorframe. It feels nice to take the weight of his left leg, finally; he can’t do this in front of the men.

“Something happened,” Flint surmises. He looks up from his hands and the light of the moon makes his eyes flash white.

“It sounds ridiculous now that I’m about to say it,” Silver smiles, “but they all woke up from nightmares.”

“You came to me about _nightmares_?” Flint asks incredulously.

“They all happened at the same time to every sleeping man.” Silver winces at how unsure his voice sounds.

“What did you do to the food?” Flint barks, “I thought I taught you how to boil meat properly.”

“I’m not sure what I did,” Silver reassures with a small smile. “I wanted to see if you had caught the food’s effects. Maybe you could be the outlier to disprove my supposed terrible cooking skills.”

“Nothing could disprove that you’re a fucking terrible cook,” Flint says. The words are harsh, but Silver can see the flash of Flint’s teeth in what must be a grin. It makes Silver’s chest glow with warmth, so he changes the conversation.

“Maybe with this fortunate weather, we could take a day’s rest somewhere.” Silver knows the men have grown weary from the constant barrage of carnage they have been wreaking up and down the colonial coast.

“That might be a good idea,” Flint replies. 

“You agreed awfully quickly to that,” Silver points out. He rests his left hand on his hip.

“It’s been a while since we made port in Nassau; I’m sure the men would appreciate a little rest.” Flint looks down at his hands, and Silver hums contemplatively. 

“We can put down tomorrow. I’d hate to waste the favorable wind tonight; I’m sure Mr. De Groot would never forgive us for it,” Silver says. A rough laugh escapes Flint’s throat; the warm feeling is growing in Silver’s chest again.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. I don’t know how he puts up with the two of us.” Silver can see Flint’s silhouette shift so that he’s staring at the outline of Silver, made soft by the glowing oil lamp.

“He must not want all our deaths on his conscience,” Silver says with a lazy shrug. He can’t keep the small smile off his face. 

 

The rest of the night is universally sleepless. None of the men are able to sleep more than a few moments before they are awoken by an amnesiac nightmare. Silver sits in the the hold and worries, for even Billy’s eyes grow hooded with the same fear and sleeplessness. The ships ambles through the waves and the sun crests above fog-covered water. The supposedly-peaceful night is over, and the men go about their morning duties with wishes for sleep in every movement of their bodies. 

The men sagged in relief when Silver shared the news of a day’s rest. The impenetrable fog does nothing to dampen their spirits, and the crew are about to put down when a shout comes from the man on the nest about an island. De Groot calls up that there’s no islands anywhere near here, and that he must be seeing things. It only takes an hour for the island to rise in a small bump over the grey horizon. 

Silver goes to see Flint and they consult their map, because there _shouldn’t_ be an island, yet there it exists within their range. Flint grumbles that perhaps it was something a mapmaker missed, but Silver catches the uncertainty. 

They decide to venture closer to investigate.

The men murmur outside that they are somehow dead and in their final travels to the afterlife, but quiet from Billy’s sharp glares. Those that aren’t up on the rigging line the railings. Their sleepless eyes are wide as the peak of the island begins to slowly ascent its loom over their ship. The lush green of the island’s vegetation contrasts the soft blue-gray fog surrounding them. 

Silver can’t help but think of the flashing of bright dresses of the women in the tavern; the tantalizing, sweet beckoning of a trick. He watches the men grow more excited as they get closer. The glint in their eyes and the feral smiles that stretch their lips make his fleeting thought of tavern women grow more solid. It suddenly feels as though Silver has lost his upper-hand with the men; the authority he has fostered as their quartermaster has horrifyingly vanished at the sight of this island. 

He thumps his way down to Flint’s cabin and tries to share his worries, but the ship has suddenly stopped with the lurching of a dropped anchor and the cries of celebration from the crew. Flint looks up from his desk in alarm and catches the harried expression paling Silver’s face.

“What the fuck,” Flint snarls, and moves to run to the deck of the ship. To Silver’s curiosity, Flint hesitates for a few seconds as Silver walks towards him, and then continues on at his usually brisk pace. In the dark of the hallway, Silver realizes that Flint waited for him to catch up. The brief surging indignation is quelled by the sounds of ropes through pulleys and the long boats dropping into the water.

Silver breaks into the dim light of the deck to Flint’s form rigid against the rail. His mouth opens and closes silently for a brief moment before he spots Silver breathing heavily on the edge of the deck.

“They… it sounded like they didn’t even _hear_ me,” Flint breathes incredulously. He lets out a slightly hysterical bark of laughter. Silver echoes him with one of his own, because the men not listening to Flint? That’s too terrifying to take seriously. 

The men have crowded themselves onto the long boats, those that couldn’t fit were swimming alongside it. Silver spots the large form of Billy and makes a strangled sound in his throat.

“Even Billy,” Silver says with slightly sagging shoulders. Flint glances at him quickly.

“You may have had a point,” Flint begins, “there’s something going on that’s not… right.”

“What could it be?” Silver whispers, standing alone with Flint on their ship.

“There are no answers here,” Flint says. He begins to shed himself of his heavy long-coat and unnecessary layers. “We’ll have to follow them.”

Silver gulps and looks down to the waves. He should be fine, but he hasn’t tried swimming since… well, since. Flint does another one of his brief glances.

“If you could haul my dead weight up on that beach all that time ago, you can haul your own.” The irritated huff in Flint’s voice is a challenge; Silver, despite his nature, has never backed down from any challenge Flint has presented him with. He’s not about to start backing out of them now, one leg down or not. 

As Silver turns around to unclasp his coat, he misses the relieved and soft glow in that is brief as the small insects that flashed lights in the early nights of Nassau. Silver’s shoulders have grown broader in the short weeks of moving with the crutch and his new leg, and they both stretch the seams of his stained shirt tight and dry the inside of Flint’s mouth. 

Silver turns his head to look at Flint when he hears him make a coughing sound. He quirks a brow and says, “Have you caught something?”

Flint’s cheeks flush a ruddy color that Silver wants to touch. Flint shrugs one shoulder and replies, “Something like that.”

 

Their swim to the beach is uneventful, thankfully. Silver struggles for a few moments, but is a stronger swimmer than Flint expected. Between strokes of his arms, Flint asks him, “Where did you learn to swim so well?”

“Where did you learn to swim so poor?” Silver snaps back playfully. If things were different, Flint would laugh and press a kiss to the arrogant curve at the edge of Silver’s lips, but, instead, he pushes Silver’s shoulder down to throw him off-stroke. He swims ahead to hide his smile at Silver’s indignant sputtering. 

They wade through the waves and collapse onto their backs once they reach sand. Silver is wheezing softly and turns his head to look at Flint.

“I’m going to fucking kill them for leaving us there like that.” Flint can’t help the laugh that escapes his mouth at the disgruntled look on Silver’s face. At Silver’s even more disgruntled,“what,” Flint laughs a bit harder.

“You look like a half-drowned cat,” he snickers. Silver’s lips downturn in a slight pout.

“You were the one who shoved me under the water,” Silver protests, but lightly, because he hasn’t seen Flint laugh like this before. He wants to hold onto the sound of it, and he sits up to dispel those soft thoughts from his brain.

“Let’s find the men, then,” Silver sighs. Flint settles and sits up, as well. They both look up and down the sand for the crew.

The beach is deserted, but they see the bootprints in the sand leading up to the trees. Though soaked through, the ignore the squelching of water in their boots and walk into the island’s trees. Flint gazes around the trees for any signs of the men, but Silver has his eyes roaming the canopy with a wrinkle between his brows.

“That’s odd,” he says to himself. He reaches out and rests a hand on Flint’s bicep to get his attention. He misses the dart of Flint’s eyes towards his hand on Flint’s wet shirt. “There’s no birds here.”

“Why are birds important?” Flint grunts. He moves away from Silver’s hand and swats at the branches in front of him.

“Why would an island this lush have no animals?” Silver continues, stumbling slightly on the uneven ground after Flint; he’s not used to the steadiness of land with this metal leg, yet.

“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about,” Flint barks over his shoulder. Silver sighs sharply and rolls his eyes.

“Where there are plants, there are insects, and where there are insects there are birds,” Silver says, “it’s common knowledge.”

“Maybe for people who give a shit about that sort of thing,” Flint retorts. Silver huffs at him, but lets it drop. The continue through the vibrantly green undergrowth with no sign of the men. Flint stops for a moment, and they feel the stillness and silence of the vegetation around them permeate their very bones. Silver sees the uncomfortable look on Flint’s face.

“See? The absence of animals is a concern. It feels quite unright,” Silver points out smugly. 

“Maybe they are hiding from us because _one of us_ is making an awful lot of noise,” Flint says unkindly with a gesturing glance towards Silver’s metal leg. Before Silver can react, Flint turns and moves on through the bushes. Silver brushes aside the overwhelming feeling of uselessness and ambles as quick as he can after Flint. He’s finding that a lot of his time as Quartermaster has involved him ignoring his feelings; he’s so used to it at this point that he’s beginning to think he was unluckily born for this position. 

The earth beneath their boots slowly begins to incline. More than he wants to admit, Silver is finding it increasingly difficult to keep his balance. Eventually, Flint slows his pace and settles to hike besides Silver, allowing him to use his shoulder for balance. When Silver keeps stumbling and ignoring Flint’s offers for help, Flint snaps, “Will you put away your fucking pride for one damned moment and let me help you? For fuck’s sake.”

Silver wants to strike Flint across his jaw for throwing words he once said to Flint in his face, but the knowing look in Flint’s unmatching eyes pauses the twitch of muscles in Silver’s wrist. Silver has to take a breath, because this isn’t Flint mocking him, he’s trying to do what Silver has been doing for Flint: save him from himself. Silver accepts that he and Flint are tied together in a way that they need each other. He may not particularly like all aspects of it, but he accepts it either way.

Silver scowls, but lets one hand rest on Flint’s shoulder. Even though he won’t admit it out loud, Silver stumbles a lot less as they continue. It’s a sharp enough incline that their calves burn with each step upwards, but not so sharp as to have them rely on upper body strength to haul themselves towards the zenith. 

“How much farther, do you think?” Silver pants. Flint notes the beads of sweat sparkling around Silver’s temples and tells him that it’s not that much further. It’s a barely-educated guess, but if it keeps Silver going, he’ll say it.

Thankfully, it’s not that much further before the ground plateaus and the thick vegetation thins to a clearing. In the center of the clearing is a worn-down, shambled mess of a house. 

“Do you think someone lives there?” Silver asks, still hanging onto Flint’s shoulder. Flint shrugs with his free shoulder and turns his head to look at Silver’s profile. His slow-growing beard is as frazzled and unkempt as Silver’s hair, which is currently littered with leaves and twigs. Flint looks a second too long, because Silver’s eyes are staring deep into his.

“What is it?” Silver asks, like Flint could ever answer. There’s a softness in the corners of Silver’s eyes. One that Flint has rarely witnessed. It almost looks like hope, if Silver believes in that kind of thing.

“Nothing,” Flint lies, and he knows that the disappearance of any emotion in Silver’s gaze is because of him. “Let’s see what we can find.”

 

The small house, if it can even qualify as a house, is intimidating even in its dilapidated state. Flint reaches for the door and wrenches it open, wincing at the creak of the wood. The hinges of the door are not much more than tied rope around a vertical plank. The walls of the house are poorly compiled with gaps between the wood that makes up the walls and ceiling. The sunlight spills through the gaps and dapples the dirt floor with golden splashes. There is a thick wooden table that is surprisingly well-manufactured in comparison to the house it is in. Small clay urns are tightly sealed and covered in a layer of dust. A bedmat made of dried fronds and woven tall grass is decaying in the corner, long forgotten. An immaculately-carved chair sits by the table, something that an aristocrat would be jealous of with dark, polished wood and master craftsmanship. However, Silver and Flint don’t see any of these things, for their eyes are glued to what is in the chair. 

“How superstitious are you?” Silver whispers. Flint gives him a side glance.

“I’m not,” he begins, “but after last night, I could consider changing my resolute stance on the topic.”

Before Silver dissuade him from stepping inside, Flint is crossing the threshold and stepping towards the chair. Silver follows, because there’s not much else he does these days than follow Flint into whatever trouble he finds himself in.

“Seems like it’s been a very long time since anyone has been here,” Flint murmurs, loud enough for Silver to hear him. He circles around the chair, eyes assessing the once-alive figure that died in it. “There’s no smell, anymore.”

“What should we do?” Silver asks. He looks closely at the strange robes that the skeleton is adorn with. Flint begins shifting the cloth and looking over the corpse. He hums once he’s finished.

“Whoever she was, she’s wasn’t murdered by a weapon,” Flint says. Silver must give Flint a look, because he glares slightly.

“If you can talk about fucking birds not taking up estate on an island, I can worry about if there are other corpses, or worse _living_ people, on this island along with our wayward crew,” he snaps. 

“We may as well see what supplies we can find,” Silver sighs. He anticipates the crashing sound of Flint breaking an urn. There’s nothing inside of them worth carrying or using, just dried leaves and sticks. When they exit the house, the sun has lowered towards behind the trees. Even at the peak, the trees tower high enough that neither Silver nor Flint can see down the island towards the ocean.

“I’m not… I can’t,” Silver says haltingly, “I think it would be a poor decision to challenge the slope in the coming night.”

“I was going to suggest we bed down here,” Flint says. He turns towards the inside of the house. “The men can handle themselves for the night.”

“Hopefully.” Silver crosses his arms over his chest. The heat of the day is draining from the air, and their clothes are still damp.

They go inside and shed their clothes and belts and weapons facing away from each other. It’s for propriety, Flint thinks, but he knows once he looks at Silver he won’t be able to stop. He’ll want to drink him in and touch his skin with his hands, his lips. He wonders what sounds Silver makes when he’s being kissed deeply and soundly, but Flint puts an abrupt stop to those thoughts when he feels arousal burn in his blood. He remains in his smallclothes, for propriety, and lies against the compact dirt. 

Flint hasn’t slept in a while. He hates sleeping, because he sees Miranda. He misses her so much but all he sees in the hole in her head and the blood that drips down her temple and feel the spray of red on his face, taste her blood in his mouth. His body wants sleep so desperately that he hopes he will be given mercy tonight. That whatever power that is wielding punishment through his life will give him a night of peace. 

Silver has begun snoring. Flint envies the ease in which he falls asleep, but it’s probably because Silver hasn’t slept much either. Whatever sleep he can snatch, he falls into so heavily that he’s unconscious with slumber in moments. Flint turns his head to watch the rise and fall of Silver’s chest and counts his breaths until sleep takes him, too.

 

The trek back down to the beach is filled with the growling of two hungry stomachs and the rasping voices of dry mouths. They haven’t found any water, and they need to soon. The trees begin to thin as the ground becomes sandier, and there is a clamor of sound up ahead. Flint and Silver share a look before grabbing their cutlasses and crouching in the bushes. Even though Silver isn’t used to carrying a weapon larger than a knife, Flint trusts him to look like he knows how to use one. 

To their confusion, the beach is covered in different types of animals. There are dogs, large cats, reptiles, a horse and other livestock, and a hippo. Flint gives Silver a side-glance.

“I don’t see any birds,” Flint remarks. Silver shoves his shoulder.

“Fuck you,” Silver returns without any heat. His eyes are darting between the animals when a horse lifts its head to where they’re hiding and whinnies. The other animals all lift their heads and stare. 

“Oh, shit,” Flint says simply. Silver echoes him.

The horse begins to lope up the sand to meet them and begins pawing at the sand and snorting. The other animals follow behind and make their own array of sounds. Flint and Silver stand and are at a loss for even how to react. 

Some of the animals have torn garments hanging off of them, Silver notices. A fox has a blue scarf tied around its neck, and Silver nudges Flint and says, “That’s Howell’s scarf.”

The horse bellows at them and tosses its head. Flint backs up a step as the other animals join in. The fox runs up to them and nudges at Silver’s leg before yipping at both him and Flint.

“No fucking way.” Silver stares wide-eyed at the other animals. There’s one of the men’s earrings in the ear of a deer, another has the worn remains of what was once a vest.

“How’s your stance of superstition and all that?” Silver asks, sparing a look at Flint, who looks pale.

“Oh, shit,” Flint repeats. He looks at the horse. “Billy?”

The horse nickers and nods his head up and down. Flint feels like he’s about to pass out. Silver rests a hand on his shoulder, both holding him up and keeping Silver from falling over.

“What do we do?” Silver asks, at a loss.

 

Flint is ambling up the sand towards Silver, who has his arm lazily draped over a dozing ram. After doing rounds to figure out who was who, Silver retired to the edge of the beach under some much-needed shade.

“Who’s that?” Flint asks. Silver looks at Flint with tired eyes.

“Muldoon,” he replies. Muldoon is all too happy to sleep with his head on Silver’s thigh while Silver strokes his muzzle gently.

“Well,” Flint crouches down beside Silver, “I found De Groot; he’s a tortoise, unfortunately. I believe Dooley is the hippo.”

The hippo, or, rather, Dooley, is swimming in the waves away from the others. He seems quite content to wade out there. 

“Do you think this had something to do with the nightmares?” Silver asks quietly, so as not to wake Muldoon. Flint snorts and shakes his head.

“Who knows.”

“Then, why haven’t we been affected?” Silver ponders aloud. “We’ve ruled out food and water, which thankfully the crew already located. God, it’s already the afternoon and we’ve got no answers or anything.”

“Maybe it will be fixed in the morning?” Flint says uncertainly. Both he and Silver know they won’t be able to sleep until they get answers. It’s another sleepless night, and the crew are still animals.

 

The next morning comes. If anything, the men have become more comfortable in their animal bodies. It’s unnerving for Silver to watch. The stronger crew have begun pulling together shelters, with Flint and Silver’s help, and it’s a productive, but tiring morning.

“The crew are more useful as animals than men,” Flint grins. Silver gives him a short smile, but it is soon replaced by the worried frown that he has worn since he and Flint arrived back at the beach.

“Worrying about it with no available answers is a waste of your time,” Flint points out. He removed his shirt a while ago, and the sight of his chest heats Silver’s cheeks. 

“How permanent is this going to be? They can’t stay like this forever,” Silver murmurs. “How long can their human minds survive in an animal’s body?”

“If we worry, the crew will worry, and who knows what will happen after that. Keep your head, Mr. Quartermaster.” Silver watches Flint’s sunburned back walk down the beach to haul more ferns up to the beginnings of their base camp. 

 

Later that day, Silver is about to lie down and take a quick rest. His leg has been stinging more than usual, and the ache has spread through his whole body. Every type of pain he has ever felt in his life emanates from the stump and he’s so, so tired of it. He just wants to shut his eyes and lose himself in sleep. 

He’s about to sit down when Muldoon comes racing towards him across the sand, bleating with white-edged eyes. His wool has sticks and leaves entangled in it, and there’s mud streaking under his belly and on his legs. Out of the trees comes a lion, and Silver’s heart stops. The lion’s pupils are predatory pinpoints as his paws move gracefully across the hot sand. Muldoon has reached Silver’s side and cowers behind him, whole body trembling like a freshly-dropped lamb. It’s just Silver alone on the beach. Flint is at their small base camp by the stream. It’s just him and Muldoon, and Silver has no weapons. He’s in nothing but trousers, and the lion isn’t slowing down.

Silver braces as the lion keeps charging. There’s no air in his lungs. There’s only fear in his throat. He can’t breathe. He longs for Flint, he longs for his mother. He’s about to die and all because of something he hasn’t found the answer to. Frustration and fear clash in his stomach, but he doesn’t have time to be sick, because he can see each strand of fur of the lion’s mane.

The lion bowls him over to the sand with teeth in his upper arm and he cries out, forcing his free wrist against the lion’s windpipe to push him back. A heavy paw is on his chest, pressing him to the dirt as the lion draws back. All Silver can see is red-stained teeth and he just hopes that it’s quick.

Silver hears a shout and then feels a hot rush of hair in his face as the lion falls onto his side, out of breath. Flint grabs Silver’s shoulder and drags him backwards, his other hand brandishing his cutlass and ready to cut open the lion’s side. Silver should be watching the lion, but he’s watching Flint’s face. His eyes are wide and afraid while his mouth is set in a vicious snarl. Part of him wonders, hopes, that that’s how he looked when Mrs. Barlow was killed. He dismisses the thought as soon as he thinks it.

The lion heaves another breath before his body jerks suddenly. His pupils go from pinpricks to something close to human and he looks around nervously. Flint lowers his weapon a small degree.

Muldoon bleats softly from behind Flint, nudging at Silver’s hair. There’s blood still in the lion’s mouth, and Silver can see how frightened everyone is.

“It’s alright, I’m alright,” Silver soothes. He doesn’t know who he is saying it more to: the lion, Muldoon, Flint, or himself. 

“This won’t be the last time this happens,” Flint grunts. He releases his hold on Silver’s shoulder, and Silver has a feeling there will be bruises. 

 

Moving the animals under the “prey” category onto the ship sounded easier when Flint first suggested it. Trying to get Billy onto a longboat, and then pushing the longboat into the water while making sure he didn’t jump off of it, has proved to be a near-impossible feat.

“Billy should’ve been a fucking mule,” Flint grumbles. Billy snorts angrily. “The sooner you get on the ship, the sooner I won’t want to just feed you to the rest of the crew.”

After Billy finally quiets down and is pulled up onto the ship, it’s many trips across the water until every prey animal is safe. Pulling up the longboats is strenuous for Flint and Silver, but it’s for the crew, and they saved the lightest for last. 

Dooley is left to his own devices, for everyone’s safety. Seeing him yawn and exposing his long teeth was enough for Silver to trust him to hold his own.

“We could stay on the ship tonight,” Flint comments. The sun is starting to drop back into the ocean. It’s tempting to hide here with animals that won’t kill them.

“Like you said,” Silver sighs, “we won’t find any answers here.”

 

By the time they return to the island, evening has firmly set in and the sky is growing darker and freckling with stars. They pull the boat up the beach enough that it won’t drift away in the surf and go back into the trees.

Before they left the ship, they came up with a plan, or a semblance of one. Most of their plans were bare threads, but they seemed to work out in the end. Hopefully, their luck wouldn’t run out. This particular plan is a long shot at best, but it’s all they have.

Flint wants to curse at Silver to be quieter as he crashes through the undergrowth encasing them. The last thing they need is for one of the men to find them and try to kill Silver again. The silence of this place makes a single step shake the earth, and Silver has sounded like a round of cannon fire since he began following behind Flint off the beach.

“It feels like much farther than the first time we explored this place, doesn’t it?” Silver pants. Flint turns around and hisses at him to be quiet.

“I don’t see much reason in that,” Silver huffs with a grin. “If something wanted to attack us by now, it would have.”

The smug grin on Silver’s face drops at the soft crackle of underbrush behind him. Even in the moonlight, Flint can see the hulking form of a canine-like beast staring at them between the leaves of the bushes. At the glint of teeth, Flint rushes forward shoves Silver behind him. 

Silver doesn’t have time to process the fact that Flint is shielding him _again_ as one of the crew steps out from his hiding place as an unidentifiable creature. His broad snout wrinkles into a vicious snarl that reveals curved teeth. He’s not that large, but, as he snaps his jaws and stalks closer with long front legs and empty eyes, Silver feels diminished.

“Step back slowly,” Flint whispers sharply. Silver shuffles a step backwards, one hand clamped onto Flint’s shoulder to make him follow; he won’t let Flint die, he can’t. It’s too dark to tell where they’re going, so Silver doesn’t bother to look behind himself as they shuffle backwards.

Flint’s face is set in a snarl as he watches the beast follow them step-for-step. His shoulder aches with how hard Silver is holding him, and he grunts as Silver nearly topples over and grabs him tighter. The beast’s dappled coat ripples with the movement of thick muscles, and Flint takes a larger step backwards. Silver stumbles again and falls backwards with a shout, dragging Flint down with him. Instead of falling onto the earth and facing the jaws of the beast, Flint is suddenly encased in darkness and feels his hip land on Silver’s metal leg and the rest of him hit stone. Silver shouts in pain and tries to pull himself from under Flint, who is trying to get air back in his lungs. The beast is almost upon them, a staccato of sharp hooting barks filling the air between them as it comes closer. 

Flint scrambles backwards and begins pushing Silver with his back against Silver’s chest. He can hear himself saying, “Go, go, go, go,” as they shuffle backwards into the darkness away from the wide maw with whatever chattering beast is in front of them. However, it comes no closer and repeats those bone-chilling noises while pacing in front of the entrance to the tunnel Flint and Silver found themselves in.

“I don’t think its following us,” Flint breathes. Silver’s chest is heaving against the line of his back, and he feels it when Silver’s breath stutters on a hysterical laugh. Flint leans ever so slightly into Silver, cherishing the fact that they’re both alive after almost dying, again.

As if on the same train of thought, Silver breathlessly laughs, “We come too close to death too often, wouldn’t you say?”

They watch, still laughing, at the frustrated animal refusing to enter the tunnel. They shuffle slowly backwards, still careful to not take their eyes off him. Once the darkness engulfs them and the entrance to the tunnel is long out of their sight, they turn and crawl deeper into the tunnel. To their luck, there is a soft light beginning to glow from the deep reaches of the tunnel, and Silver begins shuffling towards it at a faster pace.

The tunnel opens up to an enormous space with high rock walls and a circular pool that has glowing water. Neither of them have seen anything like it, but the water is empty and not filled with any men-turned animals trying to kill them, so they’re willing to risk sitting beside it. Flint collapses with his back against the stone and watches Silver’s chest heave for air. He gives Flint a glance before removing his metal leg, making a small sound through clenched teeth once it’s off.

“Are you alright?” Flint murmurs, reaching out a hand. Silver tenses and Flint pulls his hand back.

“I think we are _far_ from alright,” Silver says sardonically. He removes his boot and wiggles his toes. 

“Can I just care about your welfare without you trying to bite my head off?” Flint says. The words are harsh but his voice is soft, tired. 

“Fine,” Silver retorts. He won’t look at Flint, which hurts more than Flint wants to admit to himself.

“We can rest here for a while. You sleep first, and then I will. That way we won’t be totally vulnerable,” Flint orders. He can see how Silver wants to protest, can see how his mouth curls in the soft turquoise glow from the pool.

“Please,” Flint whispers. “It will help me to see you rest.”

Silver shifts closer to Flint, testing, before settling down and leaning against his shoulder. His body is still and tensed, like he’s waiting for Flint to push him away. Flint leans back with equal force against Silver, and it’s like he’s become a cat in a puddle of sunlight. His body is loose and languid, even against the rock at their backs, Silver falls almost instantly asleep. 

 

Silver has been sleeping a short while. It’s the warm weight of him on Flint’s left side, close to his heart, that solidifies how much of Flint Silver has seen, how much Silver has come to trust. Flint thinks he could be close to happiness, one day. Away from all of this, when it’s all said and done, but he doesn’t think he could be alone. The absence of a smart mouth and cunning to match his own makes a peaceful future tainted by solitude. Flint, although at this point he knows happy endings don’t exist for men like him, fears loneliness. It has plagued him for so long, in his dreams and in his heart, that to lose the next person, to lose Silver, will be Flint’s undoing.

Flint’s gaze drifts down to Silver’s hands, which twitch lightly in dream-sleep. Although Flint knows it’s not physically, he knows that those hands have molded him, have shaped this world’s future in ways that he knows, _he knows_ , Silver never wanted to. He remembers the early time of their interactions, the flightiness Flint saw as cowardice, the tongue that meant manipulator. Flint also remembers Silver’s eyes; he remembers how they would flash something at him before closing off. Oddly enough, it’s not the flashes he saw when he held a knife to Silver’s throat that continue to flicker in his mind. No, it is the pig, of all things. 

For a second, Flint had taken on the role of dominator, of impending violence, and then it was gone with the emotional shutter over Silver’s eyes. Silver’s form, although having not moved physically, diminished, like a child waiting to be punished. Flint himself is no stranger to beatings, but it was _different_ with Silver. The rest of the men know when they have fucked over Flint, but Silver’s reaction was a different storm underneath his skin, tumultuous and dangerous and hidden. Flint knows Silver’s breezy attitude towards deflecting from his own past, has heard on multiple occasions from Silver that present and future action is a stronger base of judgement rather than damning someone based on what they’ve done long ago. Flint, at first, had admired the strength it took for Silver, the distrusting trickster, to wholeheartedly believe that, but he caught the hitch, the crack in that conviction.

It is, instead, something Silver desperately _wants_ to believe, not something he believes already.

There are so many nights, when Flint can’t sleep anymore, that he wishes Silver would let him in. Let Flint dip his fingers through Silver’s soul. That he could thread his fingers through Silver’s and know that this is real, but there’s a divide between them that’s closing as fast as it’s growing. There’s a pressure in his chest that hurts and heals. It’s a wound that can’t close but won’t fester.

Selfishly, and Flint has too long known his selfish nature to deny it any longer, he rests his cheek on Silver’s head. Silver, asleep, sighs and nuzzles his nose deeper into Flint’s neck, and Flint’s eyes burn. Even though Silver is the unconscious one, Flint feels distinctly vulnerable. 

Flint lets out his own sign and gently rubs his cheek across Silver’s unwashed hair. Silver makes a soft, snuffling snore and Flint’s ribcage ignites with affection. He wants this moment to last forever. He wants to hold onto this but he already feels it slipping between his fingers like ink; it stains his hands with its remnants, but most of it falls away through the cracks of his skin.

Suddenly, Silver jolts. The top of his head cracks against Flint’s jaw as his body seizes. Flint freezes, still even though Silver’s body seems to be a string of moving currents. Silver’s throat gargles around pained noises. Something starts crackling; bones are breaking. The sound brings Flint back to the surface and he surges forward to tear off Silver’s coat. 

“Silver, Silver,” Flint is pleading. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. He’s got one hand twisted in the coat that’s still constricted around Silver’s waist, and the other is cupping Silver’s cheek and jaw. His skin is glistening with pain sweat, and his eyes have gone bright, so bright. Flint’s stomach churns, because this isn’t what Silver deserves to live through again. Flint doesn’t deserve to see Silver this vulnerable.

Silver’s knuckles are moving, shifting, and Flint has never moved so quickly in his life. His mind is blurred under waves, but his hands move like a shearwater. Flint’s fingers glide across Silver’s and remove his thick rings, they rise and fall across the strings and straps of Silver’s clothes. Silver’s face cracks and breaks, and Flint has to hold the vomit in his mouth. So badly does he want to look away, but there’s still more clothing to remove. Flint can’t look at Silver’s eyes, can’t look in them because he knows he would stop moving. 

Flint doesn’t even realize he’s been talking to Silver all this time, giving him false nothings of comfort because his mouth doesn’t know anything else but comforting lies.

Silver’s chest heaves with shifting bones and painful breaths. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth. His mouth moves around pained shouts and cries. He’s in so much pain he can hardly muster the energy to scream. He’s crying, crying in front of Flint. The tears mix with the cold sweat around his eyes, on his cheeks. Breathing hurts, moving hurts, _living_ hurts, and Silver just wants it all to go away. He wants to go away so badly, like he never has before, and he’s _trembling_.

“ _James_ ,” Silver hears himself say. It’s distant and distorted around whatever is happening to him. It sounds like him, a younger version of himself that watched the world leave him behind. Flint’s fingers between his are excruciating and they burn, but it’s all Silver wants in this moment. Flint is the one thing tethering him to life, and, in a way, he always has been. 

Flint is choking on desperate words and watches as Silver goes limp in his arms. His knees are digging into the cave floor from the weight of Silver’s body, which is still moving. The rest of his body rolls and jerks around shifting bones, muscle, and skin. The crunching and tearing eventually drive Flint to vomit, bile spilling onto the rock below between his open thighs. Flint feels like his body is drifting outside of itself. He’s numb, can’t watch this anymore, but he won’t let go of Silver’s body. Even as Silver’s face stretches and creaks, the hair on his head falls out of its follicles, as his body changes. Flint didn’t realize this is what happened to all of the men; that this transformation, this curse, is _violating_. It’s deeper than Man’s usual violence, it’s deeper than a slow disembowelment; it is as deep as rape.

It feels like forever and nothing when Silver’s transformation completes itself. It’s too dark to tell what animal the curse chose for him (Flint has to stifle a noise that Silver hasn’t had a choice in so long), but it’s something feline. Something with fur and a tail, and that makes Flint’s stomach churn again. Even with seeing the crew as different animals, knowing that they had to have undergone a transformation, Flint _knew_ that. Seeing it happen in front of him, to someone important to him? Flint realizes he can’t breathe, and his vision spins.

When he gets his breathing under control, Flint can feel how silent the cave is. It’s absent of Silver’s pain and Flint’s pleas. Flint checks Silver’s pulse, threading his fingers around his neck to find a remnant vibration of a heartbeat. It’s there, life is there, but when Flint’s hand slips on Silver’s feline hip, Silver’s leg is still gone.

Rage clenches Flint’s teeth together. Part of him had hoped that some small mercy would fall upon Silver, but it seems that Flint dooms all around him. Silver is a man who lived like he had lost everything. Flint saw that in the way he spoke, moved, and acted when they first met. He sees it now in the way Silver pushes away any help. It’s easier to live life when you have nothing to lose, and Flint both envies and pities Silver for it. The lure of detachment is soured by solitude. He used to be a man with things to lose. Who he once was, James McGraw, is adrift in the deep waters of the Atlantic; Flint had drowned him there on his exile to the New World. Miranda was his only thing to lose for so long, so Flint never really felt like he achieved true detachment. Even now, Silver has coiled him to living, if just barely. Silver’s words murmur in his ears, “ _I am not going to die for you just because you so desperately want death for yourself_.”

The way they sound now is much kinder than when Silver had first delivered them from his mouth. They had, once again, ravaged a coastal town, but Silver had found Flint tending to himself in his quarters with an uncharacteristic fury.

_“What are you doing this for?” Silver asked brutally. Flint had to hold himself still to keep from either reeling backwards or lunging to wrap his hand around Silver’s throat._

_Silver came closer, got right into Flint’s space and breathed hot, angry air at him. “I’m not going to die for you just because you so desperately want it for yourself.”_

_“Who says that’s what I’m doing?” Flint retorted, tilting his head so that he was looking down at Silver._

_“Ever since Charles Town,” Silver seethed, “you’ve thrown yourself towards swords and guns and cannons with no regard for your welfare nor ours.”_

_“What I do with my life is no concern of yours,” Flint snarled with tight fists. Silver grew angrier, if that is possible, and Flint could see the desire to shout and scream right there in Silver’s frosty eyes._

_Instead, Silver’s voice was morbidly quiet, “I will choose who I concern myself with, Captain.”_

_“What if I don’t want you to concern yourself with me, Mr. Silver,” Flint said through clenched teeth. Silver’s nostrils flare._

_“Will you put away your fucking pride for one damned moment and let me help you?” Silver returns with a fiery heat._

Flint thinks of how the fire in Silver’s eyes ignited when Flint used Silver’s words to him into accepting Flint’s help. There’s a large part of Flint that prays that he hasn’t read Silver’s words wrong, that he needs Flint, too. Although Flint wants to isolate himself, because he has caused pain and death towards everyone he cares about, to be needed by Silver is what is keeping him from being careless. It’s all too easy to let a parry fail or move too slowly, but then he wouldn’t see Silver’s frustration at Flint risking his life, or watching Silver hover over him and make sure he’s eaten. It’s more than being needed, he’s _wanted_ by someone who hasn’t known James McGraw. Silver stands by him knowing what he has done, and that’s what Flint needs in this moment. It’s what can move them forward. 

Silver stirs with a deep rumbling sound. Flint can barely see him, but sees the reflection of his eyes when they open. He makes another soft sound of drowsiness before his entire body freezes. Flint still cradles some of Silver’s body in his arms, and he jolts and scrambles to move away. Immediately, Flint is trying to placate him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” Flint soothes. Silver abruptly stops and stares at Flint. The water of the pool makes Silver’s feline eyes shine like coins,

“Well, it’s not okay, that wasn’t the best thing to say,” Flint sighs. Silver makes a grumbling huff, as if to say _No kidding_. 

“Do you have enough energy to move?” Flint asks. Silver shifts to stand. He growls when Flint inches forward to help him. Silver breaks off with a small sound of surprise. Flint can see that Silver’s body is shivering; this body is not one of his choosing, and Flint can only imagine how traumatizing that must be. How much more traumatizing it has to be when Flint can see the inklings of past horrors in Silver’s body, too. Traumas do not separate themselves neatly and politely; they pile on top of each other, creating a wriggling mass of inescapable torment. Silver’s body continues to shake from strain. 

“I’m here,” Flint hums softly. He reaches out to Silver slowly, and rests a hand gently on his ruff. Flint feels him lean into it briefly before moving away. He wishes he could curl his fingers into dark curls and not feel short strands of fur. 

Silver breathes the same; his mouth is open with sharp, loud puffs of air. His self-punishing, jerking gait is similar. He both wants and hates the pain; Flint has breathed those same emotions and felt their kindling. They feed Flint’s rage, his fury, his passion. Seeing himself in Silver like this, he understands why Silver is so desperate to save Flint from himself.

“We have a day, maybe,” Flint murmurs to himself. He knows Silver hears him from the way his body tenses again. 

“Can you find another way out?” Flint asks. Silver tilts his head a degree. “You’re the one with enhanced senses of smell and hearing; you might as well use them.”

Silver huffs again and grumbles softly to himself, and Flint would laugh if he wasn’t still shaking. Already, Silver is functioning again and acting as usually as he can while an animal, and Flint can barely muster the energy to move. 

Silver stops and walks back to Flint slowly. He sniffs Flint’s cheeks and makes another grumbling sound, but Flint can hear the tinge of sadness to it. Lifting a hand to his face, Flint feels the dampness of tears coat the pads of his fingers. Silver limps away on his three legs towards another tunnel and sniffs. Then, he goes to another and sniffs again. His shuffling pawsteps bounce of the rock walls, and Flint’s eyes follow the cave walls up to the top. The ceiling of the cave is dark and doesn’t reflect the glowing water of the pool in the cave’s center. He wonders if it’s stone at all. 

Silver makes a growling noise towards Flint and beckons him with a jerk of his head. Flint winces at the sharp cracking sounds of his joints as he stands. He gives the ceiling of the cave once last glance and rounds his way around the circular pool towards Silver’s flicking tail, which is a bizarre statement out of context.

They disappear into the dark together, again, both praying that they have enough time. 

 

The tunnel leads out on the other side of the island. There were no twists or turns to it, just like the tunnel the came in. In the light of the moon, Flint can finally see what Silver has become. He’s a leopard, which is as surprising as it is unsurprising.

A leopard is a strictly solitary creature, yet Silver has integrated himself into the crew so deeply that he is the leader of the herd. Flint knows that the animals the men have turned into mean nothing towards their character, but he likes to think that there is something fitting about Silver like this.

His strong features translate well to a leopard’s, and Flint can’t help but run a hand down Silver’s dappled coat. Silver jumps a bit at the contact, giving Flint a questioning glare.

“Sorry,” Flint whispers. He looks back at the tunnel, trying to put pieces together.

“It’s almost man-made, don’t you think?” Flint wonders aloud. “There’s got to be something about the cave in this, too. Let’s start with the house, like we planned.”

As Flint starts towards the house, Silver huffs and looks up towards the peak of the island. Flint glances down at him and can’t help himself.

“Here, kitty,” Flint smirks. Silver hobbles up to him, swats at him, and begins slowly climbing, grumbling to himself. At least as a leopard, he can defend himself, Flint thinks.

 

The house is the same, only Flint and Silver tear it apart thoroughly. They even dismantle the corpse and the robes, searching for any clues. They decide to take a break to figure out what to do next. If they stop trying, they’ve given up, and if they’ve given up, who knows what will happen.

They come up with nothing, and it’s only been a few hours of pondering before Silver starts getting skittish. 

“I’ve finally got your silence, but I want you back to your normal self, too,” Flint says. Silver makes a small whining sound and hobbles over to Flint and rests his muzzle in Flint’s neck. Flint rests his hand on Silver’s ruff and presses his lips to the corner of Silver’s spotted cheekbone. 

“We can fix this,” Flint promises. He has to fix this. Silver pulls back and his eyes glow with worry; it amazes Flint that he knows Silver so well that he can still _see_ Silver, even when his face isn’t human. 

Flint looks at the circles of Silver’s eyes, how moon-like they are, and thinks of the pool. It was perfectly circular. The walls of the cave were, too, now that he thinks about it. The clearing they’re in… The ceiling of the cave…

“We have to dig,” Flint orders. He shoves everything to the corners of the house. He takes the broken leg of the table and starts digging with it. Silver stares at him in alarm.

“The pool,” Flint explains. “It’s the pool, and I bet the ground here isn’t as deep as we think. _Dig_. Your life depends on it.”

They both start digging a hole in single-minded frenzy. A wind picks up, and Silver growls anxiously. There has been no wind since they arrived on the island.

“It’s a good sign,” Flint reassures him, “Dig, Silver.”

The house is shaking to the point that it’s making Flint’s teeth chatter. The wind is howling now, screaming, and Flint has to keep digging, he has to fix this. Suddenly, Silver is a dead weight beside him, head lolling into the crater of dirt and his body going limp.

“ _John_ ,” Flint shouts. Silver’s flank moves; he’s still breathing. Flint drags him by his right hind leg away from the hole and continues shifting the dirt. The chattering hoots of the beast that tried to attack them and the howling roars of the lion begin to join the sounds of the wind. There are other cries, too, growls and barks and snarls that join in a terrifying, chaotic symphony, and Flint needs to fix this _now_.

Silver stirs as suddenly as he passed out, but his eyes are empty. He looks towards Flint and snarls. He swipes out with his paw, only it’s not playful this time, and snarls again.

Flint’s hold on the broken table leg tightens, but he won’t use it, not against Silver. Silver prowls closer, limping but graceful in the way a predator is before pouncing. 

Just as his muscles bunch, Silver whines and curls in on himself, nose brushing against his stomach. He looks up, entire body shaking, and Flint can see Silver again. He makes a warbled noise before running and crashing through the door. Flint can see the swarms of animals in the dark, and they instantly lunge towards Silver. 

“ _No_ ,” Flint practically screams it. He stands to go after Silver, but the earth beneath his feet gives way. His fingers claw at the edge of the hole, but he goes down, down, down into the darkness. Flint feels his back hit water, and nothing after that.

 

Flint is dreaming again. This time, Miranda is nearly see-through. She’s shouting something at him, eyes terrified, before she’s gone. Flint calls after her.

“She’s cute,” a voice rumbles. Flint whirls around to see a woman standing right behind him. 

“Who are you?” Flint snarls. The woman clucks her tongue.

“Easy there,” she says in a simpering voice that makes Flint itch for a knife. “You shouldn’t be so rude; you’re much sweeter as James McGraw.”

“How do you know who I am?” Flint asks. He’s beginning to think it’s not such a dream. There’s a pendant on her chest, a circle with five branching lines.

“It’s you who is doing this,” Flint breathes. The woman’s lip spread in a predatory grin.

“You’re quicker than I thought you’d be, my dear Odysseus,” she giggles. 

“Odysseus,” Flint repeats. She nods with a gleam in her eye that Flint instantly dislikes.

“You don’t know it yet, but you are,” she says. Her voice is that of a patronizing parent, and Flint’s lip curls.

“And I’m supposed to know who you are?” The woman giggles again, shrapnel against his ears.

“If you can guess my proper name, I’ll save them all for you. Especially that little leopard of yours. It’s adorable the way he loves you.” She runs a hand under his chin.

“Fuck off,” Flint snaps. She just laughs again, like Flint is playing coy. 

Flint wracks his brain. Her proper name? He thinks, he thinks about how the men were turned into animals, how they were lured into the island. He thinks of Odysseus, and the name Circe comes to his mind.

_Proper name_ , comes a quiet voice, and it sounds painfully like Thomas. His sweet Thomas. Thomas who sat there and read _The Odyssey_ aloud in the original Greek when James was sick, and the name spits off his tongue like vomit, “Kírkē.” 

Kírkē’s face shrivels in rage and she screams in his face, but Flint stands firm. The world around him spins and he’s awake again.

He breaks the surface and takes in huge gulps of air. He thrashes in the water, in the dark, before swimming towards the side of the pool. His fingers scrape against stone and he hauls himself out onto the stone. He can hear a voice calling for him. He thinks it’s Thomas. He looks up towards the light at the top of the cave, where the voice is coming from. 

Flint pants and tries to focus. It’s Silver. He can see the silhouette of his hair. Flint calls up that he’s alive. He’s never been happier to see Silver in his life, and he can’t help the laughter bubbling from his chest at the sight of him.

He tries to move and slowly makes his way down one of the tunnels. The second he’s out from the cramped stone, he breathes a sigh of relief. The curse is broken. He won, and now he has to gather the men and get them off this fucking island. Some of the men are helping Silver down, much to his irritation. Silver is pretty bloodied and covered in scratches and bites. A few of the men have leopard-sized claw marks adorning their nude hides, and Flint feels a curl of satisfaction at that. Flint startles a bit when he notices that Silver is wearing nothing. His cheeks burn, but he loops an arm over Silver’s shoulder and helps him down to the beach. 

 

They’re back on the ship again, sailing far away from that devil island. Once they’ve done their rounds, they settle back into Flint’s cabin. Flint sits on the edge of his cot, Silver on the edge of Flint’s desk.

“You’re alright?” Flint asks, eyes roaming over the bandages covering Silver’s arms, legs, and chest.

“I don’t know,” Silver replies honestly. “I think things made more sense when I was a leopard.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” Silver looks at Flint with a curious glare. “You being a leopard, it was nice to have some peace and quiet.”

Silver breaks into laughter, and Flint can’t remember the last time Silver has laughed this hard. Silver trails off and then looks at Flint intensely.

“How’d you do it?” He asks. Flint recounts the conversation with the woman and Silver ponders it for a while.

“She called you Odysseus?” Silver asks. Flint doesn’t know why he seems so stuck on that point.

“I wonder who Penelope is then,” Silver says with a sad smile. He turns away and limps to the door. Flint reaches out a hand for him, but he stops at the glimmer of wet in Silver’s eyes.

“Goodnight, Captain,” Silver says, walking into the dark hallway outside Flint’s cabin, alone. 

 

It’ll be a long time before Flint tells Silver that his Penelope is dead, and even longer before he realizes that Silver knew his Penelope was really alive.

**Author's Note:**

> The transformation scene for Silver is very graphic, but not long, so just a heads up!


End file.
